


I'm Not a Cop: Recruitment

by Ashley_vh



Series: Under the Sand [1]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Before Project Freelancer, Gen, Homelessness, Light Angst, Poverty, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-06
Updated: 2015-12-06
Packaged: 2018-05-05 05:52:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5363834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashley_vh/pseuds/Ashley_vh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a mission, Agent Connecticut is hiding out in a shitty little shoe-box building on a poor planet.  She finds a kid with nowhere else to go and makes him an offer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm Not a Cop: Recruitment

The mission went well, all things considered. 

It wasn’t too dangerous anyway.  Well—It wasn’t supposed to be.  It was supposed to be simple.  In, take the hard drive, out before anyone noticed that they were there.

They hadn’t counted on this little podunk little planet to have planes (FAST planes.  Planes with guns) and more soldiers (also with guns) than their small, three-person team could handle.

But hey, nobody died.  Well… none of them died.                                                  

For one of their first missions, it could have gone worse. 

She received her instruction while jumping out of a shattered window through the midafternoon street at the edge of the city: Get to a safe location.  Evac will pick up when it’s safe.

“When it’s safe” probably meant under cover of nightfall.

So, she went to the city.  Where else could a girl hide from heat seeking guns?

She found a tiny, run down little hole-in-the-wall abandoned kind of place to settle in for a few hours. 

There was literally a hole in the wall.  A massive one to outshine all the nicks in the drywall.  She didn’t even have to duck her head to walk in it and sink to the ground in the makeshift hallway the wall created.

Still close enough to the walls to be mistaken for a sleeping hobo in the streets if they flew overhead looking for her body heat, but still out of sight of the one tiny window and the mostly broken door.  And the only place in the little shack that wasn’t covered in a thick layer of drywall chunks and dust.

There were even a small pile of tattered blankets in the corner, rumpled and hidden from sight.  Some poor hobo had probably been living in the building before the government got fancy heat seeking equipment.

The city was bustling.  The kind of city a poor little planet has in abundance.  Too many people, not enough room.  Not enough money to care about the people who live in the broken down little shoebox buildings that were just the right size for a hideout.

There were only a few small pieces of furniture in the one-roomed building.   A cushionless, broken chair under the window with dusty, torn curtains, and a small table covered in a thin layer of dust.

But she was glad pick up was under an hour away.  The stench of poor city was starting to get to her.

She had her helmet off, sitting on her lap as she listened to the steady thrum of life outside the door.  It was almost relaxing—if she hadn’t have been waiting for the call to slip out of the door and run across rooftops, she’d consider shifting over a few inches into the sunbeam that she could barely see outside her hidden hallway and taking a nap.

The slam of the door against the wall made her jump and reach for the gun at her side that had long since run out of ammo.   She was ready to fight her way out of this shitty little shoebox as she stood, setting her helmet on the ground and staying hidden behind the wall. 

Instead of storming feet and gunfire, the door slammed shut and the sound of carpet skidding a little on the wood floor accompanied the sounds of winded breathing.  Whoever burst into the little building threw a latch shut on the door, not seeming to notice her.

She took the chance to peek around the corner, out of her spot of relative safety. 

A kid who couldn’t be more than 18 rushed from the door to the window, pressing his body to the corner and peered out of the tiniest gap in the curtains.  His blond hair shone in the sunlight and, despite his apparent youth, he looked strong—if a little too thin for his height.  He was a civilian, if the lack of armor over his lean muscles had anything to say about it.  A poor one too, judging by the hoodie that was worn too thin and dirty and the baggie jeans with fraying hem.

He jumped back and pressed himself closer to the wall as a group of six people in armor rushed by in perfect formation.  Their police force. 

Whoever the kid was, he was in big trouble.

The police passed without a single one noticing he’s there.  After a moment of silence where they’re both still, he let out a relieved breath.  She returned to her corner just as he turned to face the room.  He probably didn’t see her.

She should leave.  Knock the little brat out and leave.  Find a new place to hunker down until 479er can pick her up.  But something about this kid was intriguing.  What was he doing running from police into a little good for nothing building?

The kid moved like he knew the place.  He probably did.  The planet had so many homeless people running the streets—so many planets did—that it wasn’t a surprise that a boy old enough for the Draft was on the run.

She can just barely see the outline of his shoulder from her spot against the corner, but it’s enough to see the sudden minute tension in the kid’s back that disappeared as suddenly as it happened.  If she weren’t trained, she wouldn’t have noticed. 

He knew she was there.

He made his movements fluid again.  Almost perfect.

The kid had talent.  Raw talent, but talent still.

She stayed perfectly still, not even breathing as she waited for his next move.

He almost moved naturally as he shifted the curtains, more carefully blocking the room from view of the street.  Then, when he walked quickly across the room, she lost sight of him.

For just a moment, but it was enough.

He was at her side in an instant, with only a little clatter of untrained footsteps.  The cold metal of a tiny butterfly knife pressed against her neck, right above the hem of the body suit.

Suddenly she was cursing herself for leaving her helmet off.

She held her hands up, letting the empty gun fall to the floor with a too loud clatter that made the kid’s eyes flick to the door.  “Is this any way to greet a lady?” she asked with a smile, teasing despite the press of the blade on her skin. 

With him so close, she could see that his eyes were almost grey, and his freckled face was a bit too thin for his features.  “I don’t play nice with cops.”  He said, his voice sure and quiet.

“I’m not a cop.”  She said.

“You’re wearing armor,” he gave the helmet on the ground a light kick, “Cops are the only ones with armor here.”  He waited a second for her response.  When she didn’t give him one, he squared his shoulders and said, “Get out.”

She didn’t move.  Instead, she said, “Ya know, you really shouldn’t hold it right against the skin like that. Makes it real easy to take it—” she pushed her arm forward, pushing the knife away from her neck before he could brace himself.  She grabbed his wrist and twisted until the knife fell from his grip with a sharp, painful gasp and landed right in her waiting hand.  “Just like that.”

He stared at her for split second in surprise before moving faster than she was expecting.  She tried to move, but he caught her wrist with the back of his hand and slammed it into the wall, sending little bolts of pain up her arm as her armor covered arm connected with the old drywall hard enough to leave a dent. 

Simultaneously, he brought his knee up to her stomach, easily avoiding the armor over her chest and hips and knocked the air from her lungs and she dropped his little knife with a clatter beside her helmet.

He darted to grab it before she could recover her breath and stood back a bit, pointing the knife at her.

Thankfully it was only _her_ in this little hovel.  If it were Carolina? 

Poor boy wouldn’t stand a chance.

He moves well.  Inexperienced, but the potential was there.  “I’m not a cop” she said, still a little out of breath as she pushed herself upright.  “Your cops wear white.  My armor is brown.”

He doesn’t seem surprised by what she said.  He already knew.

“Then who are you?”  He asked, pointing the blade at her, like it would do any better at a distance.  At least the boy had the mind to keep his distance now as she spoke.  “Why are you here?”

“I’m hiding from your police.”  She said, “Just like you.”  She was very good at reading people, and this is someone she could trust—mostly. 

He didn’t seem too convinced, but she wasn’t stabbed.  So it wasn’t nothing. 

“I’m CT.”

He snorted a little, “CT?”

“Short for Connecticut.” She said, “Agent Connecticut.”  She still wasn’t completely used to her new name.  But it was her name now, she had nothing else anymore.

Another scoff, “Alright, Connie.”  He said, looking at the window again, “what—”

She took advantage of his distraction.  With a simple kick, she knocked the little knife out of his hand again and sent it skidding across the floor.  With a simple shove, he fell back, out of the hole in the wall onto the carpet in the middle of the room with a thud.

He was silent for a second, but didn’t remain dazed too long.  Just long enough for CT to get the knife off the floor and hold it in her clenched fist, up by her chin, ready for a fight.  Just like in training.

When he saw her waiting for him, staring at him expectantly, he scrambled towards the chair with the broken back. 

For a split second, she thought he was running, and she was almost disappointed. 

Instead, he reached under the sun faded seat and pulled out another knife, seemingly strapped to the underside of it in case something like this had happened.

Smart and pretty.  He was a double threat.

Before she could think too much, he threw the knife at her.  Near perfect throwing style.  She barely had time to duck out of the way, the knife nicking a bit of skin on the side of her neck as she went.  Before the knife had embedded itself into the cheap dry wall, he was standing.

His stance was flawed, his fists too far away from his face to provide good protection, but his core was strong and there wasn’t a hint of hesitation in his eyes.

Brave too.

CT carefully flipped the knife closed, tossing it to the carpet at his feet.  “I said my name was CT.”  She said slower than before, watching as the kid slowly lowered his fists without fully relaxing out of his fighting stance.

“I heard you.”  He said, picking up his knife and holding it in a loose, sure grip at his side.

She breathed out a little laugh, “The polite thing to do is introduce yourself.”

He just glared at her for a moment, looking for something.  When he didn’t find it, he spoke, “Why are you hiding?”

She smiled, leaning against the dusty table.  “Your government had information my boss wanted.  My team is waiting for pick up.”

At the mention of her team, he started to look around, flipping the knife open in his hand, looking ready to bolt.

“Don’t worry,” she said, “I’m alone.  My team separated.”  It didn’t take long for him to straighten up.  “Now that we’re being honest with each other,” She said, “Why are you hiding from your cops?”

He flipped the knife closed expertly, clenching his jaw.  He didn’t want to tell her.  “I stole something.” 

“What’d ya steal?”

“What was the information?”

She smiled at that, he was sharp.  She could guess what he stole, but she wanted him to tell her.  He returned her smile.  “Oh, look at that,” she said, “cutie’s got dimples.”

The tips of his ears actually turned red.  It was adorable in a disgusting sort of way.

She watched as he relaxed.  He was trying to hide a little smile as he glanced out the window, waiting for police to find them both.  He slipped the knife into his pocket.  Finally realizing she wasn’t a threat to him.

“So,” she said, sliding down the wall to sit on the floor in the little hidden area, gesturing for the kid to sit beside her.  Just in case the police decided to look into the window, of course.  “Don’t you have school on this planet?”

The kid sat down across from her, barely even hesitating.  “Of course we do.”  He said, “I just don’t go.”

“Not smart enough?”  she joked. 

He just glared at her.

She laughed, “Too bored then.”  He wouldn’t have lasted this long if he wasn’t at least a little smart.  “Do you have any family?”

“Everyone has a family.”

“So no,” she said.  “Friends?”

He only pursed his lips, looking down at the ground.

She didn’t really expect any different.  He wasn’t the only one who grew up poor. 

He was a kid all alone on a poor, war-torn planet.  He’s gotta be good if he was able to survive this long without getting caught.

The rules about this kind of thing are pretty similar across the galaxy.  Get Caught, get drafted to stay out of jail, die in the war before you turn 18.   

Could have happened to all the friends he had had.

She looked away, letting the thoughts in his head simmer for a moment.   Her eyes skimmed over the bare room.  “Where’s all your stuff?”  No spare clothes, no games, no books, no nothing, just a pile of blankets that were probably his bed.  The kid was downright Spartan.

He followed her gaze around the room.  “I carry everything important.”  He took the little knife out again, holding it up for her to see.  The old looking silver glinted in the low light through the curtains, “I have to.” 

In case the police (or someone looking to steal stuff) raid this shit-hole.  Makes sense.

The kid ran his fingertips over the cool metal of the butterfly knife slowly, like a reflex.

“How old are you?”  She asked, tucking a bit of hair behind her ear.

“19.” He said, the answer automatic.  Too quick to be honest.

“How old are you really?”

“What is this, a job interview?”   He snapped.

“Do you want it to be?”  She asked, raising an eyebrow with a crooked smirk.

He just stared at her with his brow furrowed in confusion.

After a long moment of silence, she kept her voice gentle as she asked, “What’d ya steal?” 

He hesitated, still staring at her with confusion etched into his features.  After a second, he reached into the pocket on his jacket, pulling out a rather small loaf of bread.

That’s what she thought.  A kid’s gotta eat.  Still, cops don’t usually chase kids for so little.  “Six cops for a little loaf of bread?”

“Six cops for me, not the bread.”  He said, tearing a tiny corner off the bread and twirling it in his fingers without eating it.

She raised her eyebrows in surprise.  He was good.

“How old are you really?”

He clenched his jaw, glancing down at the dirty wooden floor.  “17,” he said.

Could be worse.   Old enough to have a fighting chance—

She reached towards her side, and he tracked her movement like he was waiting for her to pull a gun. 

She took a small granola bar out of the compartment in her armor.  She tossed it to him and scooped the helmet off the ground and setting it on her lap.  Her team will be in her ear any second, she needed to be ready to leave.

He caught the bar easily, but tossed it back almost immediately.  “I don’t take charity.”

“No.” she said, not trying to toss back the food, “you just steal it.”

He glared at her.

“How about you work for it?” she said.  He looked confused,  “You’ve got talent.  Imagine what you would be like if you had training too.”

“Training?” he said, “To be like _you_?”  He asked, with an unpleasant twist in the lip.  The idea of it didn’t seem to please him.

She put her hand over her armor covered heart, “You wound me,” She said theatrically.  “Think about it.  Three square meals a day, warm place to sleep.”  She shrugged a little. “What’s not to like?”

He was quick to answer, “Getting shot at?  Killing people?” he said, leaning towards her as he raised his voice a little bit, “The Army?”

Only natural for this kid to hate the army.  “We’re not the Army.”  She said, leaning forward too, “We’re better than the Army.”  She let the pride leak into her voice.  “We’re the ones who’ll win the war.”  He didn’t look convinced, so she needed to try something else.   “If you get in, you’ll get to see the world.”

“And kill people while I’m at it.”  He’s still not really convinced.  But before she could say anything more, there was a little chirping in her ear.  She held up her hand to silence whatever he might have said.

_CT, pick up in two minutes on the roof at the edge of town._  479er’s voice was loud in her ear, probably speaking loud enough to hear herself over the engines of her plane.  _Do you read?_

“I read you.”  She said, “Package is still secure.”  She looked over at the kid on the ground in front of her, trying to tilt his head to see the earpiece in her ear that he didn’t notice before.  “Hey, North?”  she said, glancing out the window like she could see the transport up to the _Mother of Invention_.

_What’s up CT?_   Came his voice in her ear.

“Is the director still looking for a 50th?”  she asked, pointedly not looking at the kid in front of her.

_I think so,_ he said, _why? Did you find somebody on a secret mission?_   He said it like she was supposed to say no.

“Maybe.”  She said, ignoring the chorus of _what?!_ ’s she was hearing through her ear piece.  “I’m heading to pick-up.”  she stood and the kid followed her lead.  “CT Out.”  She tapped the tiny button on the earpiece, muting the babble of questions in her ear.

“Listen kid, you’ve got a choice now.”  She scooped up her helmet from the ground.  “You can stay here, either starve to death alone or die in jail,” she almost felt bad when he flinched a little.  “or you can come with me.”  She clipped her helmet on and he just stared at her.  “Fight by my side.”

His eyes were a little wider as he looked out the window.  Almost like he could hear the plane that was probably almost at the pickup point.

“It won’t be easy,” she said, her voice warped from the helmet making him look back at her.  “You’ll be tested, and you might not make it into the program.  Even if you do, you might die.  I can’t promise any of us’ll make it to a ripe old age.”  She shrugged a little, “If I’m honest we probably won’t.”

He was still watching her like she was crazy.

"But I _can_ promise,” she said, her voice gentle even through the helmet, “that you’ll have people there with you.”  That seemed to shake him.  “You’ll have friends.”

The kid finally broke his stare and looked at the ground, still silent.

She walked over to the door, preparing to run out into the almost-night to the ship, “But if you want in, decide now.”  She pulled open the door and looked out into the clutter of people that were dispersing to their homes.  She’d better be quick and not attract too much notice.  “Your first test is to catch your ride.  Good luck.”

Then she was gone, running out into the street and banging the door closed behind her. 

* * *

It took him less than two seconds to decide.  

He had nothing to grab, nothing he needed take with him, so it didn’t take any time at all to open the door and run out after her.   No reason to look back at the place he hid out in for the last four years.

She had to be somewhere.  That armor looked too heavy to run very fast.

His heart was pounding in his chest when he couldn’t see her.  She seemed to have vanished into thin air—

The rumbling of plane engines passed right over head, shaking the tiny pebbles on the dirt road.   His eye followed the plane across the street, and caught sight of Connie’s silhouette against the sky, already two large rooftops away. 

He didn’t hesitate.  He ran across the wide street without pausing to think, nearly bumping into random people in the street.  He ran up the rusted metal fire escape on the outside of the building that’s always been across from his hideout.  He jumped up to the roof, ignoring the way the bricks scratched his fingers.

His body just moved instinctually.  Jumping and climbing and running until his fingertips hurt and his muscles burned.  He tried to keep her in his sights, but he knew she was going to the plane that was landing on a building two streets away.

The rumbling was getting more intense as the small vessel started to land on the building, its wide ramp door opened, landing on the roof just as she appeared on the edge of the roof. 

He didn’t pause when he saw her turn, staring at him as he jumped to a lower roof.  There was only a single alley between them, and she turned away, going to the ship at a steady pace. 

She probably didn’t think he’d make it.

Two people in purple armor were waiting at the edge of the ramp, waiting for her and watching him, one of them pointed as he stopped. 

The alley was too wide, he couldn’t make it.

Connie reached the middle of the ramp then.  She turned again, watching him for just a moment before she walked into the plane, grabbing the other soldier’s armor and pulling them into the plane. 

Then it started to rise, taking off.

He couldn’t miss it.  He couldn’t stay on this planet any more.  He had to leave.

Quickly, he backed up, giving himself room.  Then, when the ship was only an inch or so off the ground and rising quickly, he sprinted, taking a running jump.   The ramp was shutting, slowly, but he was able to see one of the purple ones hit the other’s arm and point.

He landed on the roof hard, scraping the skin on the heels of his hands.  The wind whipped at his clothes, flattening them to his body as he ran to where the plane was.  It was above head height now, the ramp almost half way closed and he couldn’t hear if the soldiers were saying anything.

He didn’t pause. 

He let the momentum of his running jump carry him forward as he jumped up.  He barely caught the edge of the ramp, ignoring when the metal cut into the palms of his hands.  The door is still closing, raising him higher and higher off the ground as the plane climbed into the sky, turning so he hung over the street.

He’s getting closer and closer to loosing fingers or falling and breaking something—if he was lucky.  He was too far in it to go back now.  He pulled himself up, trying not to grunt even though they probably couldn’t hear him over the rumbling of the engine, and swung his leg over the ramp.

He struggled to pull himself into the plane, it was harder than simply pulling himself up on rooftops.  The ramp was nearly closed by the time he managed to make it in, nearly closing on his leg before he rolled down the slanted edge to where the soldiers were staring down at him.

He stared up at them for a moment as he panted, slowly starting to feel the cuts and scrapes on his hands.

That was nothing like running from police.  He’d never run so fast in his life.  It made his muscles burn deliciously, his lungs sucked in air and it felt like heaven against the cold, hard metal.  His skin tingled, his palms burned, but it felt like the best thing in the world.

Running after her made his mind quiet.  It was so exciting.

The rumbling was quieter inside the ship, still there, but quieter.  Not too loud for him to hear one of the purple ones say, “I figured he’d be too scrawny to pull himself up.”  She said, putting one hand on her hip and cocking it to one side and looking at the other purple one.

“That’ll be five bucks, South.”  He said, making South huff and turn away.

Connie held out her hand, offering to help him up, and he took it.  His breath was still coming in gasps as she pulled him to his feet, she didn’t seem to notice or care about the blood on his hands.  “My name is David.”  He told her.

He couldn’t see it, but he thought she was smiling as she turned to the other two, “North, South, get the Director.”  She turned back to him, “If today goes well, from now on you’ll be Agent Washington.”

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this as the first part of a series of 6 or 7 stories where CT is the one who gets Wash to join PFL. It is set before PFL. This has not been beta read, so all mistakes are mine.
> 
> I’m dedicating this fic to bouncykatie on Tumblr, because she won the Halloween thing for RT and almost made me die via chicken nugget. Thanks Katie. 
> 
> My tumblr: Ashley-vh.


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